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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27228049">drinks in the dark at the end of my road</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExultedShores/pseuds/ExultedShores'>ExultedShores</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Metro 2033 &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, M/M, betrayal whomst?, don't know her</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:13:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27228049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExultedShores/pseuds/ExultedShores</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“My soul is Red,” Pavel says, and even now there is pride in his voice as he proclaims it. “But my blood runs red, too. My heart beats red. And you, luchik, you make me run more red than the Line ever could. Korbut can find himself another Ranger. Blin, I’ll hunt one down for him myself. But he won’t have</em> you.”</p><p>The Bolshoi Theatre, with shifted loyalties.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Artyom/Pavel Morozov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>drinks in the dark at the end of my road</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My friend Sam streamed Metro: Last Light for me and I am <em>ruined</em>. Artyom and Pavel have ruined me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“They will let us in through the Theatre.”</p><p>Artyom has heard stories of the Bolshoi Theatre – both the old one, on the surface, and the new one, built inside the Metro to preserve the traditions of its great predecessor. He’s always wished to see one of those shows, was incredibly taken with stories of the theatre growing up, and now… </p><p>Now he may even get to see one. And with a friend, at that.</p><p>No, not a friend. A musketeer. The Athos to his d’Artagnan.</p><p>He really ought to see if he can get his hands on that book, when he gets back home.</p><p>Pavel leads him past the queue, ushers him inside with a hand on the small of his back, and Artyom doesn’t know what he marvels at more; the gentle touch, or the inside of the Bolshoi. Because New Bolshoi is gorgeous, and vast; red drapes cover the wall, rows and rows of seats stretching down to a magnificent stage. But Artyom is quite certain the theatre isn’t what’s making his heart race.</p><p>“You’d like to watch the show, Stanislavski?” Pavel grins, gesturing at two empty seats in the front row. “A little respite before we slog through Revolution, huh?”</p><p>Artyom doesn’t have to think on it long. Getting home is important, but this is not a chance he’ll soon see again. “If it’s not an imposition.”</p><p>“Ah, you could never be an imposition, chuvak,” Pavel exclaims. “Come, sit, relax! You need to live a little sometimes!”</p><p>It’s hard to argue with that – and Artyom doesn’t want to, at that – so he takes the offered seat, Pavel dropping in the chair next to him, and he allows himself, for a moment, to forget. D6, Polis, the Dark One – it all seems so very far away. There is just the theatre, and there is Pavel.</p><p>A smile makes its way to his face unbidden, not even his Ranger training allowing his features to remain impassive, and Artyom is so caught up by the show it takes him a long time to realise that Pavel’s eyes are not on the stage, but on him – have been on him since the moment they sat down.</p><p>Artyom looks at him, raising a questioning eyebrow, and Pavel responds by laying his hand atop Artyom’s on the armrest connecting their seats. “Enjoying yourself, Artyom?”</p><p>“I’d be hard-pressed to say no,” Artyom replies, gaze dipping down to their hands.</p><p>“Good,” Pavel says, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s good.”</p><p>Pavel is not a man of few words, and Artyom splays his fingers to catch Pavel’s between them, squeezing softly. “Athos?”</p><p>Pavel lets out a huff of laughter at the address. “You couldn’t just make this easy for me, huh, d’Artagnan?”</p><p>Artyom’s brow furrows in confusion. “Make what easy?”</p><p>Pavel’s eyes flick over the crowd, assessing, before he leans in closer. “Listen,” he begins, voice low and hurried, tone serious. It has Artyom sitting up straighter reflexively, because for Pavel to forego his jovial disposition, this must be important. “My superiors, they are not that willing to let a Spartan through Red Line territory. General Korbut wants information only a Ranger can give him – I’ve got orders not to let you leave this station, unless in chains.”</p><p>It makes sense. It makes sense, and yet it doesn’t, it can’t, because Pavel wouldn’t. Pavel wouldn’t, and Artyom doesn’t understand. “Why are you telling me this now?”</p><p>“My soul is Red,” Pavel says, and even now there is pride in his voice as he proclaims it. “But my blood runs red, too. My heart beats red. And you, luchik, you make me run more red than the Line ever could. Korbut can find himself another Ranger. Blin, I’ll hunt one down for him myself. But he won’t have <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Artyom ducks his head, tightening his fingers around Pavel’s. It’s one thing to have Pavel spout jokingly flirty lines, and a wholly different thing to hear him spell out his affection so blatantly. Were he not in the belly of the beast – enemy territory, despite his foolish hopes – he knows perfectly well what he would have done.</p><p>As it is, he just breathes deeply, reigning himself in. “What is the plan?”</p><p>“Just past the dressing rooms is a bar,” Pavel explains. “I will offer you a drink, chuvak. Op-pa, bottoms up and all that. Only it’s laced, see. No taking chances with a Ranger – wise, that, from what I’ve seen of you, solnyshko. You’ll have to improvise, pretend to drink, then catch us off-guard. I can’t offer you more than an escape; you’ll be on your own through Revolution Square. But you’ll make it. I’ve no doubts about that.”</p><p>Artyom swallows thickly. “You could come with me.”</p><p>He knows it’s a futile suggestion even before Pavel shakes his head. “I am Red, dorogoy. My place is here.”</p><p><em>Your place is with me</em>, Artyom doesn’t say, but it’s a close call. He swallows back the sentiment, looking back at the fire dancers instead. The theatre seems to have lost its magic, now. “My place is at Polis.”</p><p>“I know,” Pavel sighs, and Artyom can hear the sorrow in his voice – or perhaps that’s just wishful thinking. “I know, Artyomich.”</p><p>They stay like that, fingers intertwined, watching the show – or at least, looking at the stage, because Artyom is not absorbing any of it anymore – until it’s almost over. Pavel lets his hand fall away and rises from his seat, beckoning Artyom. “Come on, chuvak,” he calls, his voice back to its usual chipper pitch. “Time to get going, you patron of the arts.”</p><p>Their act starts now.</p><p>Artyom stands and follows Pavel into the dressing rooms, trying not to glower too strongly when Pavel effortlessly flirts with some of the girls there. But Pavel is smooth, guiding them into the adjacent bar quickly enough, and Artyom understands why Pavel pulled them out of the theatre just before the end of the show. There are only a handful of patrons present, and now that he knows what’s coming, it’s easy to spot the trio of soldiers trying to blend into the thin crowd.</p><p>“Let’s drink, eh, Artyom?” Pavel proclaims, clasping his shoulder and handing him a glass of spirit, the smell of alcohol strong enough to mask any drug that might’ve been put in there. Clever. “It’s on me!”</p><p>Artyom takes the glass, stays standing as he pretends to knock back a big gulp, setting it down hard enough to have the liquid spill over.</p><p>“There’s a good man, Artyom!” Pavel laughs, keeping hold of his own glass. “More, more, we can’t waste good spirit, eh? Bottoms up!”</p><p>Another pretend swallow, and Artyom notices the three privates rising from their chairs, guns at the ready. His own revolver feels heavy on his belt. It’s now or never.</p><p>Artyom surges forward, one hand on the hilt of his gun, the other grabbing the back of Pavel’s neck and <em>pulling</em>, the motion pressing their bodies flush together. This has two advantages: one, the soldiers cannot shoot him without putting a bullet through Pavel, and two, it gives Artyom a prime opportunity to close the last bit of distance between them and press their lips together.</p><p>And that – might have been a mistake. Because the feeling is indescribable, and it makes Artyom want to <em>stay</em> – stay at the Bolshoi, stay with the Red Line, stay with <em>Pavel</em>. His pride as a Ranger seems so inconsequential compared to this, compared to Pavel, and it takes Artyom more effort than he will ever admit to pull away, to put his hand on Pavel’s chest and <em>push</em>, sending him careening into two of the approaching soldiers.</p><p>The third aims his rifle, but Artyom is faster; he rams the butt of his pistol into the man’s temple, and he’s running for the exit before the body has even crumpled to the floor.</p><p>“You idiots, after him!” he can hear Pavel shout, and he smiles as he sprints through unfamiliar tunnels. He’s not out of the woods yet, not even close, but he has a fighting chance, thanks to his friend, his musketeer, his love.</p><p>All for one, indeed.</p>
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